(Edited with Grammarly on 1/15/2026)
A gust, both frigid and moist, came sweeping in from the west. Bouncing off buildings and running along the wide open street. Picking up garbage in its wake, forming a sort of modern tumbleweed that rolled across the path. From above, a mix of heavy clouds and smog blotted out the massive celestial body that hid half of its face behind a singular, massive shadow. Its luminescence, no matter how dull, was completely overshadowed and devoured all but the brightest of stars.
From between towering buildings, the sounds of Gotham's nocturnal life could be heard. Dumpsters, overfilled with cheap excess, were treated like cuisine dinners for rats the size of cats. Raccoons, large enough to make all but the bravest of humans have second thoughts about even trying to ruin their feast. Or maybe bravery didn't have anything to do with it; maybe the cocktail of mind-altering substances running rampant in their bodies could be the root cause.
The first brawl of the night should've been between animals that had grown fat and strong from the scraps of humanity and people whose high demanded sustenance no matter the source. Whether that be trash or the very same creatures daring to bear down on them now.
At least...that's what was expected. There should be the sound of the boots of thugs intermingling with the clacks of high heels, there should be the sound of rambunctious music and loud cursing. Of empty beer bottles crashing against the ground and cigarette butts flying. It was like the chaos of nightlife had completely skipped over this small section of the city, like an invisible wall protecting this area from that part of adulthood.
And at the center of this peace, a lone building stood tall. Surrounded by a tall, chain-linked fence. Each fence corner, topped with cameras whose small red lights could be seen blinking rhythmically and more clearly than during the day.
In a hidden alcove, a shadow moved. Small and twig-like, it didn't stop them from dashing from one pit of darkness to another. Their steps, weird-looking, just barely hovered above the ground enough not to cause a scraping or scuffing sound. Dress not in black, but in a simple set of outerwear. Old jeans and a plaid flannel shirt buttoned up atop a gray undershirt. With a navy blue skull cap unraveled enough to cover the ears, a thick, faded green scarf wrapped loosely around their mouth. Obscuring all but a pair of muddy brown eyes.
Edging around the circumference of the fence, they made extra sure to try and stay out of the line of sight from those cameras until, eventually, they stood before a locked gate. Chains, thick as fingers, hung wrapped tightly with a heavy-looking padlock… A lock not fully set in place, left open and hanging on a nearby link. The light above that should've been on, should've been expelling a beam of pure white light strong enough to blind people easily, was nowhere in sight. The lamppost glared down at them, but their fury was muted.
They shook the chains open, slipping between the gap with barely a sound and, under the cover of inky darkness, sprinted across the open yard. Crossing the distance no matter the cost, even when their lungs seized, gasping for breath, before eventually, they nearly collided headfirst with a brick wall. There, they began to move gingerly. Using the wall to guide them until they could finally peek around it.
Finally getting eyes on a set of security doors with a viciously bright light illuminating their surface. Falling into a quiet breathing rhythm, they tried to ease their rampaging heart. And all the while resisting the urge to dab at the light sheen of sweat on their brow. Mentally, they began to count down the seconds. Standing nearly on their tippy toes, their gaze remained laser-focused on the doors.
Almost as if sensing their silent urging, they opened suddenly. Revealing an older man of slight frame, with a visible hunch to his stature. In one twig-like arm, he clutched a large garbage bag and practically dragged it behind him. In his other hand, a massive key ring jingled. Humming a familiar tune, the janitor turned his back and moved his hand about. Presumingly locking the door before going back on his heels and walking out into the yard.
The figure stood ramrod still, not even breathing.
But as he passed the corner, the black bag was swung around and landed right at their feet. The heavy thump of multiple pieces of metal landing atop it soon followed. From behind thick, wire-framed glasses, the old man nodded slightly before walking off into the darkness. That tune floating through the empty courtyard.
Glancing down, they scooped up the keys and darted out from their hiding spot before coming right up and pulling open those heavy security doors.
'Don't that look spooky?'
Albert couldn't help but think as he gazed into the empty and deathly dark school interior. It honestly made him begin to have second thoughts about all this, who actually knew what creature might be lying in wait inside? He'd met and interacted with his first ghost in a school like this, more dilapidated it was, but he didn't think that would matter if there truly was a baleful spirit haunting these halls.
His hand reached up and palmed one of the many packets of salt in his breast pocket.
'I'll just visit Marceline after all this is done...just to be on the safe side.'
With that, the teen stepped fully into the building and allowed the doors to click shut quietly behind him. Instantly dropping him into a sea of ink and silence. Something, far, far too familiar for his liking. And his trembling fingers, he slid his phone out of place and used its screen to provide him with even the smallest bit of light.
Heart stilling, he took a few steadying breaths before making his way deeper into the building. His foot steps loud, nearly deafening in fact, from how they echoed off the walls and lightly rattled the nearby lockers. Only the sound of the heaters rumbling along within the rattling vents kept him company.
Quickly, he made his way down the hallway. Feeling that oppressive energy press in from all around, he knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Knew everyone had already left for the day, knew for a fact that he was truly alone in this building...but logic didn't really matter right then. Figures wriggled into existence at the corner of his eyes, some large and looming, while others were thin enough that he would need to wonder how they could even exist. No room for organs or muscle, just straight skin and bone. And others...others didn't even try to appear human, a mass of shuddering limbs, crawling things with fingers for hands, balls of flesh not rolling but skittering on millions upon millions of tiny legs.
All of them were inching out of the darkness just to torment him further, but every time he turned his head this way or that, they disappeared just as quickly. Not clamoring or scuttling back, but just gone. Vanishing back into the deepest recesses of his mind, but they would be back.
'They always come back.'
Shaking his head, his pace increased further. Now breaking into a jog, it took him even less time to reach the front of the building. Hand reaching out, he tested the nob and pushed the door open. Scanning the room in question with this little bit of light, it was clear that this was a sort of reception area.
A large desk, built right into the wall itself, sat off to one side. Multiple office chairs sat side by side before a total of three different computers. Each had a bland red phone beside them. That familiar coil of wire connecting the two separate parts.
Beyond that, a total of eight chairs sat side by side, pressed tightly up against the wall. Leading to a single door that spilled out to the outside world. The ambient night light of Gotham leaked into the room, both soothing him and making it easier to see.
Looking down the hall, past the office chairs, he spotted a series of doors. Clear windows and signs over the top of them were conveniently labeled. A printer room, a counselor's office, and…
'Jackpot.'
There, at the far end, stood a stately-looking door with letters plastered across its opaque glass surface. Principal.
A sight that made him feel so small all over again, like he'd been slung back in time. Looking up at doors similar to these as he awaited some form of punishment to be passed down from the highest level of authority in school. He'd never been anything but invisible all his time growing in that past lifetime of his, just honestly keeping his head down and out of the trouble. It had worked for a bit, but all it took was a teacher's single bad day to completely ruin that streak.
It was a normal day, but admittedly, he could admit that it was obvious their teacher was going through something that day, and really didn't need any more trouble hopped up on their plate, but when was the world ever so kind? It was the class clown, running through their routine, that instantly ignited the fuse. He couldn't even remember the joke and could only recall forcing a chuckle just to not stick out amongst the crowd of laughing students, before he found himself getting dressed down by a screeching woman with hot, angry tears running down her cheeks. Not the class, not the class clown, but him specifically.
Only after being screeched at for five minutes did a wandering teacher poke their head in, scan the room, and quickly came to their own conclusion. They'd quickly marched him down to the office, a new experience. Foreign, in fact. And there he sat for what felt like hours as once kindle secretaries coldly ignored his presence. Until eventually, he'd been placed before doors similar to these before him. He'd noticed how teachers straightened their act around the man, knew how even the surliest of coaches smiled kindly at students they would've forced to run until they puked their guts out, could see how athletes called them a respectful honorific even when they thought no one was around.
Just the name alone, Principal, instilled respect deep within the very minds of students, even from such a young age. Dread, a desire to cover up their wrongdoing, to move out of their way in fear of attracting their ire.
Or maybe that was just him. A younger, less jaded version of himself.
That version of him wasn't ready for the sheer pressure, an invisible manifestation of authority to come crashing down on his shoulders the moment he stepped into that room. His knees clattered together, mouth became far too dry too quickly, and blood crept away from his face. The memory so vivid, so crystal clear, that he couldn't stop his mind from overlapping the two images atop themselves.
Day and night clashing, bright lights overhead warred with the dim glow of his phone and street lights outside. Hand outstretched, they flashed back and forth. Tiny to large, the door swapped between this imposing thing and a simple entrance way.
Heart thumping, sweat rolling down his temple, he pushed the door open with the care of a child who knew they were walking right into the lion's den.
A large and imposing man sat, dressed in a finely tailored suit with a simple pair of thick-framed glasses that hung low on his nose. Reflecting a blue light through them, his hands didn't pause in the slightest as he continued to type away on the keyboard in front of him. Not even looking up, he spoke out a single command. Didn't yell, didn't scream, nor even raised his voice, but it had taken every bit of control from the younger version of himself just turning to run from that room altogether.
He blinked, and when his eyes opened once more, that figure vanished just as suddenly. Dragging him out of the brightly lit room, he found himself in a dark and empty room. With nothing but a few posters, filing cabinets, chairs, and a massive desk before him.
Albert shook his head, dispelling the fragmented memories of his first and last detention in his past life. It shouldn't have affected him as much as it did; it was just losing all recess time for a week and spending a few lunches in a small room with 'delinquents'. After that moment, his recollection was somewhat spotty, but what he did know was this: he was never as invisible as he thought.
'Enough.'
This time, he shook more fervently. Shrugging off the pity party he was throwing himself and focused once more on the room before him. Photos filled his vision, framed and hung up proudly. A picture of a portly man shaking the hands of several rather important-looking people, a smarmy grin on full display. The man grew older as the frames continued to flash by, until eventually, he came across a much older version of the man, excitedly shaking hands while posing with a rather interesting character.
Tall, dark, and handsome. The very icon of a character trope that would be very popular in future romance novels. With inky black, slicked back hair, frosty blue eyes, and a jaw so strong that it looked like stones could be shattered on it.
'What are you doing here, Bruce?'
Stepping closer, he peered at the photo in question. It appeared that they were at some sort of event, a gala or charity event. Many smartly dressed people could be seen in the background, each bejeweled in such a massive display of wealth that he was a bit surprised no villain had dared to try to rob one of these venues. Just snatching a handful of golden bands or bracelets could easily fund enough to start a new life somewhere.
Snapping a quick photo, he continued to circle the desk until he came face to face with a black-screened computer. A simple keyboard was just lying there, and without a second thought, he plopped down into the chair and just hovered his fingers above the mouse.
Trying not to jostle the screen, he closed his eyes.
He felt for that constant storm of grains gliding and shuffling just above his skin, felt as they crashed against each other, as they danced to a pattern and tune he could never even begin to fully understand. With a breath, he willed the grains forward. Imbuing his intent, his desire, his NEED directly through the grains.
[LCK: 35/45]
Those intangible, innumerable specks of providence surged forward with the force of an entire pack of snapping jaws. Rolling up his legs, down his arms, and pooling at the very center of his palm. Before a massive thing, mentally shaped like a claw, surged forward. Slamming into the mouse with the force of a sledgehammer. It should've shattered the fragile device into millions of fragmented pieces. It should've caused the table to turn into nothing but a pile of splinters, but instead, not even a single paper rustled out of place. Instead, the 'claw' slithered and compressed. Sliding into the crevices of the mouse and creeping down its cables.
He couldn't feel exactly what it did when those grains entered the computer, but it obviously didn't take long, as the sensation of something slamming back into himself made itself known. Like a tide being dragged back into the sea, that aura of protection became just as turbulent. Splashing and grinding against each other, quickly sliding their less energized brethren beneath the surface as they continued to spark and prance. Lashing out at invisible things before slowly fading out of his conscious awareness, becoming nothing more than background noise.
Opening his eyes once more, he gently shook the moue and instantly, the small red light on its surface blinked a few times before it flashed green and the screen itself nearly blinded him. Blinking his eyes and squinting, he got a good look at the screen before him.
'Forgot to log out? How...lucky for me.'
Albert really didn't know how to really feel about one of his trump cards. Resourceful had been such a godsend, and every day he fervently thanked the past him for having the foresight to pick such a powerful talent. It was like an automatic 'win' button for him to use at his convenience, allowing him to slip in and out of most places without wasting too much time. And he figured he could coast the entirety of his life just relying solely on Fortunecraft to guide him through, but with the recent realization that this was where his path would end, he couldn't help the well of resentment burbling to life deep within his chest. What did The Prince expect of him? To just not peek at the pages beyond his means? Not to be tempted by the power just ripe for the picking? To acquiesce to The Grand Plan? To bend to its will and just hand HIS cheat over to people who're actually blessed by this thing?
'Batman has enough plot armor as is.'
Maybe he was just being childish, petty sure, but he just really didn't like the idea of anyone else besides him using Fortunecraft. Even though he knew they could probably use it better than he could ever dream.
'Focus.'
Life was never fair to begin with; that was a lesson he learned in his past life. Why would he believe this life would be any different?
Scanning over a few icons, he quickly searched through recent activity. Skipping past what appeared to be a grading application, past payroll information, before finally landing on an older, less advanced version of email. Clicking on the icon in question, a lone envelope that instantly opened the moment he clicked on its pixelated face, he watched on bated breath as the fans spun to life. A spinning blue circle cycling through as the ancient machine struggled with this simple task.
After what seemed like five minutes, the application finally opened, and he could finally see the treasure trove. The first thing he noticed was the hundreds of emails jamming this person's inbox. Nothing too important from what he could see, mostly a mix of concerned parents, job applications, and spam.
Normal stuff, really, but things got a lot more interesting once he went over to all outgoing messages. There were a lot, and even after scrolling over the past few months, there had to be around fifty of them. And from what he could tell, most of them didn't hold a lot of substance. A few passive-aggressive comments about getting grade average up, a few new policies going into effect, and just notices for a couple of school events.
But the email he wanted was nowhere in sight. That single damning piece of evidence that he could use to easily corner this Principal into coughing up everything they know. Even after going back a full year, there was nothing. That was until he switched over to deleted messages and only spotted a handful.
'There you are.'
Clicking it twice, he rummaged into his pocket and pulled out a small, thumb-sized flash drive before plugging it into the tower. A little expense, he thought, was needed, especially if he could find the actual security footage somewhere.
'Attention all Staff! Important! Read Immediately!' His eyes flickered over the text, countenance growing more grim as the email went on. 'It has come to my attention that one of our students, known for wandering, has mysteriously disappeared from the grounds early this afternoon. It is very likely that she just ran away. I do not know where she might've gone, but it is best for everyone if this is the story we stick to. The student disappeared later on in the day, just before classes let out, and presumingly couldn't wait to go home and walked out of her own accord off school grounds. Thus, outside of our jurisdiction. Any staff member found not sticking to this story will have their contracts terminated effective immediately, and I will make sure double- triple sure that you can never find work in this field ever again. Johnathan M. Bricker.'
The ending was followed by a phone number and email address, both of which he quickly noted down with a small ball of cold fury churning within his chest. This man, this 'Johnathan', had really just covered up a kidnapping of one of his own students. Someone hundreds of parents trusted to keep their kids safe. Someone who'd lied and forced everyone else in this damn school to follow along, who allowed these kidnappers to get almost half a year head-start on any actual investigation.
And for what? Why? Could he be working with these kidnappers? Is he a scout? Does he look for children that wouldn't be missed?
'No.' That didn't track. As much as he just wanted to slap the man with the label accomplice and be done with it. But from what Candice had told him, the kidnappers had only snatched Jacqueline after she'd gotten out of reach. 'Then why? He had to have known that covering this up would ruin him. He would be lucky if they didn't toss away the key when they lock him up. What could be so worth the risk?'
Downloading that email onto his drive, he quickly scanned through the rest of the folder before switching back over to all currently read threads. Only after a few minutes of mindless scrolling did he finally come across something that could stick. And it was safe to say it took all his self-control not to just burrow his fist deep within this ancient screen. The damage to himself be damned.
'Why does it always come back to the Waynes?!'